


Over The Boardwalk

by Teal_Rainbeau



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beach restaurant, Boardwalk Date, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Karaoke, Light Angst, Pining James Griffin (Voltron), Rachel trying not to catch feels, Rare Pairings, Self-Indulgent, Summer Romance, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-09 22:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20125093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teal_Rainbeau/pseuds/Teal_Rainbeau
Summary: Going out in secret has been something that Griffin and Rachel have been used to. Rachel likes hanging out with the Garrison Military School junior officer and finds him attractive. Griffin feels that the girl who calls him "James" is someone who's company is worth more than just a "platonic hanging out".But a fun day at the boardwalk will bring out a comfort so heavy that catching feelings might be inevitable...Slight proofreading done since publishing this earlier





	Over The Boardwalk

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so back when I was writing [Garrett & McClain's Day Off](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16680847/chapters/39117397)  
I came across separate pictures of these two on Tumblr. I was playing around with the idea of them being a couple because I thought that they looked good together.  
The only challenge was figuring Rachel’s personality because I had no clue of how to characterize Lance’s sister. Then it came to me: she should be a more chill, rebellious version of Lance, yet with the same capacity for flirting and compassion (and passion) that her twin has.  
I figured: The chill rebel getting with the uptight officer who follows rules would be an interesting concept to explore. But because they are around each other and fighting how they feel, Rachel is slightly more high-strung and James is just straight up shy...

Five in the morning, Sunday.

That was when Rachel found herself sneaking out of the house dressed in her off-the-shoulder burgundy peasant blouse with her bright blue skinny jeans. Her tan sandals made way less of a noise than flip-flops ever could. And if any of her siblings heard her, there would be half an hour of explanations to comb through. She was not going to keep James waiting over such crap.

Because of the grace of traffic, they were here and happy at six thirty in the morning. Or at six hundred three zero hours according to Officer Griffin. Their trajectory was Ariel Bay, twenty minutes south of Santa Balmera. Not as crowded, and a great destination for those who didn’t mind missing out on the college community so much. The sun barely peaked over the far mountain where the ocean was still curtained in the deep blue of early morning majesty.

Once James parked and the pair climbed out of the car, they were invited to a warm scent of vanilla and sizzling meat mixing and merging with the welcome salt of sea breeze.

Breakfast time was way overdue, and Rachel’s stomach was biting.

“I’m hungry for pie. Are we going Dutch or French?” She asked James.

“Huh?” he was genuinely confused.

“Are we splitting the bill or what?” She stretched her torso with her long fingers laced up to the sky.

“Dragged you from your beauty sleep; it’s on me.”

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

They decided on a nice seaside restaurant named Jade’s Diner. It was a medium sized restaurant, it's interior drenched in cream white with cherry accents on the booths and stools. Way back when it could have been a national treasure where Rachel imagined the girls wearing cute poodle skirts and turtlenecks while sharing a milkshake with their collegiate boyfriends. There was a jukebox sitting next to the entrance waiting for someone to entice it with a quarter. The tunes that thing could play…

James rubbed his arms, clearly not used to the draft of the morning nautical chill.

“You could’ve brought a jacket.”

“I’m wearing a thermal and a button down. Any more articles of clothing, and I’ll be chopping down Christmas trees.”

With a giggle, she picked a booth closest to the heater for his sake. Slow moving music serenaded incomers from the hidden speakers: adult contemporary; mostly upbeat or sappy hits from yesterday that offices would play to make employees remember their humanity.

The cute waitress bounced by and gave them a few more minutes until they could finally decide. Rachel turned the pages of the menu in stride while James stayed on the first and second page with the heartier foods.

“I wanna get something from this page.” She pointed shyly to the section with the overly decorated and hedonistic fair.

“Go for it.” He permitted chipperly.

“You sure?”

“I’m not complaining, am I?”

“No.”

Several conversations about contemporary vs. old music later, Rachel indulged in a giant waffle with a wreath of whipped cream and boysenberry spread while James ordered hot wings with every sauce imaginable.

“Is that dessert or breakfast?” James’ stomach did a wave at the sight of so much sugar on one plate. She had yet to add the syrup.

“At least I’m not out to give myself an ulcer!” Rachel rolled out pointing to the sauced pieces of meat piled on his plate. Sure, she added hot sauce on her _huevos_ some mornings, but the amount of sauce glazing those wings could have easily measured to be a half a bottle.

“I’ve eaten stuff like this cold. And it does the trick in waking me up.” He said while tearing a wing apart with his teeth.

“Dude, that’s what coffee is for.” A twinge of worry dotted her voice even though it was veiled in nonchalance.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m not gonna double over in pain, not on your watch.”

The girl finally removed her hands from the conversation and poured a fountain of syrup on her two-inch thick waffle.

She was surprised to find that he was actually eating with his hands and not cutting them with a knife and fork.

Before it was time to go, James was administering his fourth cup of water, which was not helping the dire sizzle in his throat and chest.

“Don’t you dare, Rachel!” he defended through rough hiccups.

“What?” She drawled tauntingly. “Say that I _told…_okay, I’ll give you a pass because you finished off all twelve.”

She summoned the waitress and urged her to get two glasses of milk.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

At seven thirty in the morning, booths were finishing their set ups. There might have been dozens more people _tops_ on that pier by now. Because of the summer vacation, it was hours earlier than the usual ten o’clock that this pier came to life. Whimsical muzak followed the steps of every man, woman, and child in attendance.

The first carnival game: Balloon Darts.

The objective was simple: shoot some balloons with small darts, earn a prize. Nothing difficult about that.

Except Rachel fell in love with a jellyfish lamp that she wanted so badly. It would make a perfect addition to her new apartment at school, right on top of her little ivory shelf where she kept her phone and other things. It was clear-glass with floating artificial creatures inside that glowed. She had seen something similar at the Santa Balmera pier months ago.

And maybe it was because she wanted it badly enough that every unsuccessful toss she made messed with her pride more than anything. Normally she would mess up and call it a game, but not this time. It was going to take four of her six tries to hit the targets with accuracy before the prize was hers.

“If you want to try for one more, its two dollars.” The attendant enticed her. He was a straight-laced looking boy about her age with his trousers buttoned up to his nipples and suspenders that could have doubled for backpack straps.

Rachel pulled out a pile of quarters, “Hit me!”

“Rachel, it makes no sense to keep going.” He remembered this particular game, and _this game_ had a strange trajectory where to the blind carnival goer, all balloons were under-inflated just enough to make the darts bounce on them instead of penetrating them.

The girl frowned with her upper lip curved into a nervous “letter M”, brows furrowed. The more she tried with these darts, the more haphazardly they flipped once they ricocheted off the globes of hatred.

“Screw this shit!” she bellowed.

“Watch your language.” The attendant hunched over to point his scrawny finger at her like he was a headmaster at a school.

“You watch _your _language, fool!” She snapped, mirroring his lean with a tight fist balled into her hip.

“Please excuse us.” James drawled while pulling Rachel away firmly. “I’ll be taking her turn shortly.”

Before Rachel could finish her tirade, James placed a firm hand on her shoulder and gave her a stare that immediately commanded her attention.

“Okay, you must know that he was telling you that while keeping into consideration that there were two small children standing right next to him.”

She took a deep breath, eyes sliding away from his gaze while her face crumbled in humiliation. There were more people in attendance than a couple of kids; an infant and a grandmother were waiting around with their shoulders tensed and arms folded.

“You hate being told what to do, I get that about you…”

“He needs to try a prescription for a chill pill or two.” She calmed down, gaze still pointed like an arrow ready to impale.

But before James decided to allow the fumes of her tantrum to go anywhere near that booth again, he paid the attendant enough money for ten rounds worth of games. He was going to pay more until he won that lamp.

With an imaginary crosshair each throw he made exploded the targets with pinpoint accuracy. Crowds in awe started gathering, children squealing at how “lit” this show was.

Rachel yanked herself from her heavy juju enough to notice that James was an absolute star at that booth. As he finished, he playfully blew a finger gun while shooting a glance back at Rachel with a cute raise of his eyebrow.

She rose with a cheeky grin as James invited her over to pick the prize that she desperately wanted. With a deep sigh, she pointed to that jellyfish lamp, the one that was only six inches tall as the attendant reached up with a picker and grabbed the box.

“I-I’m sorry. I might have gone off the handle or whatever.” She swallowed thickly while meeting the man’s eyes.

But the beleaguered attendant smiled and folded his arms behind his back. “Water under the boardwalk. Your boyfriend’s a good influence, I can tell.” He smirked at James with a jovial eye raise.

“Whoa! Not my boyfriend…” she turned away with her cheeks burning.

“We’re just…together…” James stated with a question mark of his own. _Very smooth._

At least she thanked him for the lamp.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Hammer time!

Those were the only two words that floated from James’s word bank. No, they were not going to escape his mouth whatsoever. This woman would either roll her eyes or choke on a laugh if she did.

The hammer game was a classic. Eight-year-old James once witnessed brawny men at a county fair smashing the hammer down so skillfully as they finished their victory with a bicep flex. How he longed to be like them when he grew up…Lots of working out and doing drills throughout his Garrison career prepared him. Maybe he wasn’t nearly as jacked, but still.

Four tries for ten dollars.

“Seems like you’re ready to rock, Swartzenegger!” the attendant was a slight-older-than-middle aged guy with a fit body and aged tattoos on his forearms. He wore a black studded vest and jean shorts that fit to his kneecaps.

“Just let me have it and I’ll be ready to pick that prize you have on the wall there.”

“Are you talking about the little pussy cat hanging up there? You _might_ be able to walk away with that, if you’re good enough…”

To Rachel, it sounded like “Skippy” had jokes as evident from the taunting tempo in that sentence. 

“No, not the cat! I’m going for the giant **purple octopus**!” James declared with a heavy, fierce swing of the hammer. Though it went crashing down with a timbre of war, the little bell made just a grasshopper-sized leap. The attendant moaned in pity for James as the man looked onward with his mouth hung open.

With his nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed, he gave it another try and took the stick again. He repeated the same crashing rhythm only to see the little ball hop just a little bit without even reaching halfway to the damn bell.

“What’s the matter Hulk? You seem a little frustrated.” The man side-eyed him with a scratch of his scruff.

“I’m not…frustrated…I just need to try again!”

Rachel drew a breath through her lips upon noticing the way his left eye would twitch with the slight grit of his molars.

After six, seven, eight tries he finally declared the thing as rigged and threw a dirty look to the shameless smirk of the attendant.

All Rachel needed was one try.

“You sure you don’t want to pay two for five bucks?” The old man attempted to seduce.

“I’m sure.”

Back straight, knees bent. One good swing downward and the ball took its meteoric rise to the bell.

With a playful siren-like whoop the attendant congratulated her victory and invited her to pick a prize from the long fence on the side.

But James noticed the lack of fanfare on her part and swallowed down the ambiguous mixture of pride and hubris swishing in his throat. He had to know what her secret was!

She remembered from her childhood. It wasn’t about the force itself; firmness and accuracy counted in this kind of game.

“What are you waiting for? Your eight-armed child is calling you, Griffin!”

It wasn’t just the octopus, they received another prize for being such good sports of the game. A consolation prize, James realized angrily.

Rachel knew exactly the person to give the “lower prize” to. She chose that raggedy looking cat the attendant insulted James with.

“That’s my gift to you, Skippy. Happy prizing!”

James’ previous mixture of emotions went down more like cotton candy and liquid after he caught wind of her wink and winning smile.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

James sat on the bench like a sad sap, children running past him just to stop and stare at the five-foot octopus that was a new addition to his family.

_“Cheer up, daddy. There’s other carnival games you can rock!” _

His giant plush teased him in a high pitch, reminiscent of a character from a preschool show. It lifted a tentacle and stroked his cheek lovingly. He was too sadness-fogged to stop it from stroking his face, then to his neck.

“Stop!” he jerked from the tickle of its tentacle in brief hysterics.

“I could hear the crunch in your imagination while you were biting that guy’s head off.” Rachel stopped her games with the octopus and cuddled it on her lap, satisfied with the man’s brief though precious smile.

“Bastard like him caught me on a good day.”

“Whadya say? More games?”

“Sure… what the hell.”

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

At the ladder climb, James was the victor with advanced balancing skills and a cocky smile while Rachel flipped, fell, and shrieked several times.

Rachel beat James in the bean bag toss by a landslide and jumped into a victory Running Man, apologizing giddily once he wandered away in a vapor of silence.

Somehow, they tied in basketball. 

Both of them fumed mentally and verbally at the ring toss game. Rachel wailed that she should have gotten _at least one_ of those, and James berated the female attendant for making the hoops the same size as the damned bottle tops.

The whack-a-mole gave them both difficulties, but soon they were both laughing and taking each loss in stride.

By the time they made it back to the car, they were nearly teetering with their prizes in their arms and James’s octopus piggybacking him.

“I’m starting to see why those are called “attractions” and not games.” James decided was the verdict.

“And of course, the bastards remain two steps ahead of us.” Rachel noted casually while putting her stuff in the trunk. She had digested and memorized YouTube videos on tips and tricks, but still could not cheat the system enough.

One thing their adventure gave them was a hearty appetite. 

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Back at Jade’s diner and this time they split a basket of fries and chicken strips. Nothing spicy, and nothing with an ounce of sweetness.

“I think I saw one person tinkering around with that thing.” James mentioned the juke box.

“What were they playing?”

“Sounded like _Go Johnny Go_.”

Rachel started uttering the melody and main verse, mostly to get a sense of what he was talking about.

“Now you sound like one of your singing cat girls.”

“Would you _please_ stop making fun of my music tastes?” She chucked a fry at him, causing him to hiccup in protest. “I almost never hear your music…do you even listen to any?”

“I listen to plenty!”

“Could’ve fooled me.” She folded her arms with her head turned away in a sneaky smile.

That’s what made him anxious. The idea that most of the music he crooned to on old 78s was much too sophisticated for people his age to appreciate. In Rachel’s case, too _prehistoric and nerdy._

“Here’s your pomegranate soda, and your mimosa, ma’am.”

James nearly choked at Rachel’s drink and thanked the waitress nonetheless.

“Mimosa?!”

Rachel chirped in agreement as the lady went on her way to help other esteemed patrons.

James scanned the room before taking a very deep breath and speaking. She must have ordered that while he went to the bathroom. “Last time I checked, the drinking age was twenty-one! They could get arrested for selling to underage customers!”

“Not if they’re none the wiser.” She stated casually, trying not to let his sanctimonious screech rub her the wrong way.

“You’re only eighteen, where did you get the ID?”

“It’s legal in Cuba, and I’m not tellin’”

“Guess what? This is America, the USA!” he lowered his base to a whisper.

“Wanna sip?” she inquired with eyes that splashed innocence.

At that moment, James became so off-guard it was almost peaceful. “What? No! I don’t want alcohol at eleven in the morning!”

“Come on! You clearly need this more than I do…”

It was evident from his grunt that he was feeling like a very unwilling accomplice. He must have been that kid in school who did an above and beyond job being a hall monitor and spent his lunches with the principal for fun.

“Look, you’re not responsible for my actions, okay? It’s not like I asked you to buy this for me. Sorry for upsetting you.”

Her eyes glowed with compassion despite the specks of scrutiny staining them. She must have thought he was the biggest fuddy-duddy in history. So what?

She continued. “Not saying this to be mean, but sometimes I feel like I’m hanging out with a much older man. You’re only like, twenty.”

“Twenty-one next year.”

“In other words, you’re far from the land of the dead. Perhaps you could stand to cut yourself some slack.”

“_Not saying this to be mean, _but you seem to give yourself too much slack.”

“You think?”

“It’s keeping you out of trouble for now, but one of these days who’s gonna rescue you when you can't?”

Something bubbled in her chest that was a much more complicated cocktail than humiliation. “Don’t need anyone rescuing me. I’ve learned to be a Jill of most trades.”

According to her story, she and Lance were tight until he enrolled into Garrison Military. She was lost and fell in with the wrong crowd; older girls who taught her the art of stealing, cursing, dress-up, etc. School bullies would think twice about messing with her. 

“Wasn’t all bad. Ended up being much cooler than I thought I was. At least more so than that ten-year old-skinny, anxious girl I was...”

“So if I had befriended you back then…we would be in detention nearly every day? With a thousand demerits if you ever made it a day or two at my school…”

“Probably. Partly because of you snitching…”

“This may shock you, Ms. McClain, but I’m not always this neo boy scout.”

When he graduated from the academy, he wanted badly to tell his father that he was going to defer post-secondary education. Not a single application was filled out for schools since he graduated two years ago. They argued one day, he over ginger ale, and his father while drinking the most aged of Scotch. He wasn’t ready to go to West Point after high school; the Garrison is where he wanted to serve as role model and community member to his home town.

“Sometimes you gotta shoot the breeze.”

“Not with my father, the Five Star General. Things at home are run on such a tight ship sometimes that there is no room for _air_ let alone a breeze.” The muscles in his shoulders began to relax, along with the stress and sadness that had been tucked somewhere unknown until now. “Honestly, I’m beginning to believe that the real reason I chose to stay at work was to get the hell away from him and breathe a little bit!”

The girl commended him on his unending amount of patience, mooning that she herself could have become a runaway in his situation. With continued empathy she pushed her mimosa casually in his direction, but this time he eyed it and swiped the glass with a generous sip.

After three more orders of Mimosas courtesy of Mr. Goody Goody and her “ID”, she decided that maybe it was her turn to spill her guts. Even if it meant having one piece of her brain shut down for a moment. “Gotta news flash for you, Griffin: I’ve grown up from those crazy days.”

The epiphany came after Lance and Veronica showed up one day third period during junior year with news that their mother was hospitalized. It scared her to death to think that the woman who had always been so long-suffering and all-around patient with her children could have reached her limit that morning. It was prolonged stress that put her there. And that day the unshakable devil-may-care girl peered into her mother’s swollen pupils and sun-starved skin only to crumble into shaking sobs.

Here now with James, the liquid warmth returned to her eyes along with a broken sigh. “My bad.”

“Rachel…”

They were both tipsy and depressed now, giving James the will to lightly tap into his newfound confidence as he rose from his seat

“I’m gonna see if this old girl has a bit of juice left in her.” With a final bite of a fry, he strolled towards the jukebox.

After his tinkering a song poured out with a bouncy guitar rift and trumpets, followed by a man with a deep bass. And there was James crooning along,

_ Love is a burning thing, and it makes a fiery ring…_

“Oh shit!” she concealed her mouth with her palms, laughing from secondhand embarrassment and the realization that he had a rather nice singing voice. Then it hit her: a neighbor and his wife used to play this song a lot…

He sung louder as she turned around with the cheesiest smile he ever saw.

Directly after the song, Rachel chose an Elvis Presley song that she recognized from a Disney movie and fell into a sing-along with him. Like a pair of two crazy drunk youth in a Karaoke bar, they were oblivious to the other customers and staff staring at the free show.

Out poured a slow song consisting of a gentle drum and a guitar rift thrown in. Something from _Johnny Kidd and the Pirates_.

Rachel was such a natural dancer, and James was a natural leader. So when they were slow-dancing, there was absolutely no pushing or pulling. Just a gentle sway.

“So…this is what James Griffin does when he’s not soldiering around?”

“Yeah…”

“Do you hear me complaining? It’s actually really cute.” She smiled.

“Thank my mother. She made me take dance lessons every summer at the community center when I was younger. This is the kind of music playing while I was learning swing, the jitterbug, some ballroom dancing....”

“Lucky!” she swooned.

“You thought I was this boring stiff with a stick up his ass, didn’t you?” the corner of his mouth formed a curve.

“Um…” her face heated up and she was feeling embarrassingly called out.

“Not mad.”

The exchange of mimosa breath was not the only element of intoxication they were exchanging. Maybe Rachel pillowing against his shoulder was due to chemicals shutting down her brain activity. James sighed, understanding fully that this was more than the alcohol’s fault for the heat brimming against his cheeks.

Against their better will, they gravitated steadily into each other’s orbit, lips only inches apart. 

The small seismic activity in his pocket tore them apart like a sound wave with James huffing as he reluctantly pinched his phone out. The only thing that could have interrupted this moment was an important summons from his mother. And it was, so it did.

They set out for the freeway at noon. None of them chose to talk about that moment, much to Rachel’s relief. Sunday dinner at home tonight was going to be one for her wandering mind…

* * *


End file.
